


Wait For It

by otatop



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Bullying, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oblivious Derek, Oblivious Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-29 10:23:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1004268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otatop/pseuds/otatop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Funny, how you can exist adjacent to someone through elementary, middle, and high school and not really know them. Funny, how Stiles had always had some strange crush on Derek without actually being his friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wait For It

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a small break from writing a much longer angsty piece that will be called Where My Demons Hide but I don't much like how it came out :x

Wherever movies got the idea that school was split into strict stereotypical cliques, it was bullshit. Yea, ok, cliques existed, but really only on the level of groups of friends who didn’t intermingle with other groups of friends. And yea, ok, those groups of friends often came about by things like sports and band and the AV club, and _yea, ok_ those things were inherently stereotypical, but _that’s not the point_.

The point is, high school isn’t black and white but there will always be bullies. Jerks. Assholes. Dicks. Jacksons.

Stiles rubbed at the side of his forehead and yanked his locker back open. He was surprised there wasn’t a dent in it the shape of his head with the way his skull was throbbing. Jackson and his crony were already around the corner by the time the world stopped spinning enough for Stiles to realize what had happened. Boy did he have _words_ for that asshat. Words that… well, words that wouldn’t really do anything because everything just _bounced right off_ of Jackson’s perfect cheekbones and perfect lacrosse jersey and perfect car. It pissed Stiles off on a regular day that Jackson was too dense ( _dense_ , not stupid) to be bothered by vicious truths. With the way his vision was swimming, maybe it was for the best that he hadn’t gotten a word in; back talking usually ended up with another fist and he wasn’t sure he was at a place where he could bounce back from a second one.

“This is bullshit,” Stiles muttered, more to the empty hallway than himself, like the soul-sucking building was listening. As if Harris keeping him after for _no fucking reason_ hadn’t been the cherry on the cake that was his awful day, now vision was fuzzy and his cheeks were hot with humiliation. Because it wasn’t bad enough that he’d had a fight with his dad that morning. It wasn’t bad enough that he’d gotten a C- on his French exam. It wasn’t bad enough that Scott had ditched him at lunch or that Harris had chewed him out in front of the more important half of the Hale twins or that his bag had ripped between class periods. No. Jackson had to come around and be his usual self with fucking Greenburg laughing in the background as Stiles’ head bounced loudly (and painfully) off the cheap metal vent of his locker door.

“ _Whoa, whoa, whoa.”_

Stiles suddenly found himself being spun around by the shoulders, the world tilting on its axis though his feet were planted. The first thing he saw when everything righted was stunning green eyes. And his confusion of - _were those green? Or were they hazel? How are they so beautiful?-_ was the only indication he needed of his further embarrassment.

“You have to be fucking kidding me,” he groaned. _Perfect_. This was just fucking perfect. Why couldn’t he just disappear into the ground?

“Hold still,” Derek ordered in that short voice of his, but his hands were gentle as they cradled Stiles’ head and maneuvered it to the side.

“I’m not moving,” he argued.

“You’re unsteady. How did this happen? How are you _standing_?”

Stiles swatted at the hands but they only moved down to hold his shoulders again. The heat from them kept him grounded, reminded him that now wasn’t the time to get snippy just because he was embarrassed. It wasn’t every day that Derek spoke to him, let alone _touched_ him and his usual sarcastic defense was not the first impression he wanted to give. He closed his eyes and took a breath to keep his focus and the sharp remarks at bay.

“Hey, no, no, open your eyes. You need to go to a hospital.”

“Are you fucking _crazy_?” Ok, so about that first impression… His eyes snapped back open to see Derek’s unamused face only inches from his own and by George if this wasn’t the start to half of Stiles’ daydreams. “It’s just a little bump on the head. If I went to the hospital for every little bruise and cut I’d be living there. No thank you. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

As he tried to tug himself away before Murphy’s law took effect (because that’s the kind of day he was having) but Derek just tightened his grip with one hand and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket with the other that he brought up to the injured side of Stiles’ head.

“Who carries _handkerchiefs_? What are you, ninety?”

He pulled the white cloth away to show Stiles the smudge of red that looked suspiciously like blood.  His stomach rolled, the dizziness becoming just a little bit dizzier and the possibility of falling rising. Something must have shown on his face, because Derek’s scowl twisted into something surprised as he held the handkerchief back up to the cut and out of site.

“Shit, sorry. I forgot about what happened in health class.”

Stiles made a strangled sound but didn’t try to pull away anymore, instead falling prey to the worst day of his seventeen years. “No, no, it’s fine. Perfect. What’s one more thing today, huh? I’ll add second-hand embarrassment for my past self.” The hand on his shoulder was quickly becoming too hot and too much and Derek was either completely unaware of the effect he had on Stiles or painfully aware and finding great joy in crumbling his reserve; Derek lifted his hand back up to cup Stiles’ head, right behind his ear and his features softened to something like Stiles had never seen. The new position was even worse.

“You don’t have anything to be embarrassed about.”

Stiles snorted dismissively. “Ch’ya. Fainting at the sight of blood in front of y… everyone. Totally nothing embarrassing about that.” Derek shrugged. “People took _pictures_.”

  
“Maybe they just thought you looked cute, like you were sleeping.”

The utter ridiculousness of Derek suggesting he might, maybe, possibly be considered cute had Stiles barking out one loud laugh right in his face, hard enough to make his body list forward in its injured state so that the lacrosse player had to lean in and catch him. Stiles froze, cheek squished against the curve of Derek’s peck. Derek’s. Peck. His chest. The chiseled muscle that had played a part in his fantasies since they’d started changing for gym class in middle school. It was the single most awkward moment of his young life but hell if he wasn’t going to stay there memorizing the feel of it. Derek was just as still, one arm stretched down between Stiles’ shoulder blades and his other hand holding the handkerchief to the cut and effectively cradling his head in some sick facsimile of an intimate gesture. God, he hoped Derek couldn’t feel how fast his heart was beating.

“Will you at least go to the nurse?” Derek asked, but he paused before righting Stiles and he did _not_ need things like that to overanalyze.

“She’s gotta be gone by now. I’ve got a pretty decent first aid kit at home; it’ll be fine.” The unimpressed look Derek leveled him with was followed up by him grabbing Stiles’ broken backpack from his locker, and gesturing with the handkerchief until Stiles took over keeping the pressure on. Then, he grabbed Stiles by the forearm (surprisingly gentle for such a brusque guy with weirdly soft hands that Stiles wouldn’t soon forget) and led the way out to the student parking lot. Aaaand away from the Jeep.

“You’re _not_ driving in this condition,” Derek said when Stiles made a half-hearted attempt to pull away.

“I’m not in any _condition_ ,” he argued.

“You could have a concussion. You driving right now is a hazard Beacon Hills doesn’t need.”

It was all so surreal, getting into the driver’s side of the Camaro and watching Derek go through the motions to pull out of the lot. He’d never seen Derek drive before. He’d never seen Derek do a lot of things. Funny, how you can exist adjacent to someone through elementary, middle, and high school and not really know them. _Funny_ , how Stiles had always had some strange crush on Derek without actually being his friend. The kind of crush you get on celebrities because you seethem and you hear them and they’re such a huge presence in the world and you _want_ to know them. But they’d never really been in the same circle of friends. Derek played lacrosse and basketball and got invited to parties with alcohol and decimated other schools during the Academic Decathlon and his mom was on the PTA and he was friends with people like Lydia and Danny. Stiles had quit soccer when he was in the fifth grade and never wanted to do anything with the stuff he learned in his AP classes and his only real goal in life was to drive down to San Diego and live out of his car for four days and go to Comic Con. His best friend was an asthmatic lacrosse bench warmer.

Stiles watched Derek shift gears and wondered if this random act of kindness would change anything between them. Probably not, Derek may be gruff but he was a good person to pretty much anyone. He was the kind of guy who would be a grumpy employee but donate half his paycheck to the ASCPA. Would it be weird if Stiles said hi to him in the hallway after this? One hello could lead to more, could lead to casual conversations, could lead to not-so-casual conversations.

Before now, it would have been weird. Stiles wasn’t sure how a ride home would (if at all) change that but he hoped it would.

Only… the house they were pulling up in front of wasn’t Stiles’ home. And, now that he thought about it, he hadn’t told Derek his address. It took him a second to recognize Laura’s car in the driveway and realize that this was the Hale house. It wasn’t the type of house you see every day and then go _oh, yea ok I know that house_. It was right off the Preserve, a huge brick and white house that was more than one family needed. Stiles had a vague recollection of hearing that Derek lived out in the middle of nowhere in a big place, but nothing prepared him for a mansion in the woods.

“You could have just taken me home,” he grumbled, though he wasn’t actually put out that they were here. In fact, butterflies were starting to well up inside his stomach and it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling.

“Didn’t you say that your dad would be home?” Derek asked as they got out of the car. Stiles, pretending he didn’t feel awkward entering someone else’s house, could not for the life of him remember talking to Derek about his dad. And trust him; he would remember talking to Derek about anything. He _had_ talked to Scott about it, though- mentioned that his dad was taking a few days off after closing a stressful case. Well, that had been in calculus; Derek sat across the room from him them in that class. Had… had Derek been paying attention from over there? Or was Stiles really that loud?

“And so you… brought me to your house… tooo…” Stiles followed Derek’s lead and toed off his shoes into a pile by the door that had an odd amount of tiny little kid shoes. Derek gave him a funny look and headed towards the shiny wooden staircase.

“To take care of you so you don’t scare your dad with a bleeding head wound.”

“Right. Yea. To take care of me.” _Ugh. Get it together, Stiles. Grumpy McFrowny face is one of the nicest people on the planet. He’s going to take care of you like he takes care of his… grandma or something._

But then Derek looked down over his shoulder, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yea. Take care of you,” he parroted and Stiles felt like he was missing something. Or floating away. _Tingly_. They followed the second floor hall, past a door with booming music that could only be Laura’s, and into Derek’s bedroom. _His bedroom_. His bed was big and made up and neat and just _begging_ to be mused up and _oh god_ the things Derek did in that bed when no one was looking. Stiles was so caught up in everything that he didn’t even care that that bed had no doubt played host to Derek’s partners as well. Because, c’mon. There was no way a guy like Derek wasn’t getting any action. That didn’t matter. What mattered was that Derek had Stiles by the wrist and was steering him to sit on the edge of the bed right up by the pillows.

Derek disappeared into what looked like a closet of a bathroom off his rooms and came back with a hefty first aid kit. Stiles lowered the handkerchief (keeping his eyes off it) and whistled low.

“Do I even want to ask why you have that?”

Derek smirked and pulled out a little packet that he tore open. “I’ve been taking a class so that I can start training to become a volunteer EMS when I turn eighteen.”

“Nope.” Stiles shook his head, Derek’s hand following the movement. “No, you’re not. You’re not. What, do you go around saving kittens from trees in your spare time? Help any old ladies cross the road? I bet you helped birth a baby, too.”

“Well there was that one time…”

For an entire minute of Derek cleaning Stiles’ head, he was almost sure there actually was a story. It was the cheek twitch, a tiny movement Stiles was only slightly ashamed of knowing so well, that gave him away. He reached forward to lightly punch him in the shoulder with a laugh that Derek returned.

As it turned out, the cut really was quite small and had already stopped bleeding and Stiles was already out of the dizzy stage (though the headache was sticking around). Derek put a bandage over the worst of the welt to keep it clean. He remained sitting on his heels in front of Stiles, hands hovering awkwardly until they settled on his own knees. His eyes were doing that… that _thing_ where they existed just to melt Stiles’ reserve and they were so, so close and Stiles could _smell_ him and fuck…

“So are you going to tell me how you managed to hit your head?”

“Oh, you know, just Jackson being a dick,” he said without thinking, then snapped up, wishing he could suck the words back in because he didn’t need anyone- Derek especially- thinking he couldn’t handle himself against someone like Jackson. Derek’s expression lost its softness at once, hardening into a deep scowl that brought his brows together.

“He’s still giving you trouble?”

“What are you talking about?” He’d been so careful about keeping it quiet. Jackson wasn’t anything Stiles couldn’t handle. He didn’t want to go crying to a teacher or his father when he was perfectly fine on his own. It wasn’t like it was an everyday occurrence- a push here, a cruel whisper there, getting locked in the Janitor’s closet. The head-shoving was new and while it hurt a hell of a lot more than a punch to the gut for back talking, he had a feeling it was a one-time thing.

“I saw something so I said something. Isn’t that how the saying goes?”

“Are you- Did you- What _right_ do you have to say anything to anyone about this?” The humiliation was rearing its head again, replacing the warm fuzzies and making Stiles blood boil with embarrassment. “Who did you tell? If word gets back to my dad then-”

“I didn’t _tell_ anyone; I talked to Jackson. I thought I got through to him but…”

“No one gets through to Jackson. What did you tell him? _When_ did you tell him?”

Derek shifted on his heels, like he was trying to mask his guilt with feigned physical discomfort. “Today. During practice. I told him why he was being unreasonable, why hurting you would cause the very thing he was afraid of. Er, well, not the _exact_ thing- that won’t happen- but close enough.”

“Are you sure you’re not the one with the head injury? Jackson isn’t _afraid_ of me. He’s a classic bully with a rich lawyer father and a lacrosse streak that get him out of trouble. He’s an ass to me because that’s the kind of person he is.”

Derek laughed, but it wasn’t a kind one. He shifted again until he was kneeling, still in front of Stiles, still looking up at him, straight in the eye with an expression like he couldn’t get why Stiles wasn’t seeing his point.

“You really don’t know, do you?” he asked, easing up on the aggressive tone but still spitting the words. Stiles made a _go on_ gesture with his hands and had no idea where to put them to look nonchalant when all he wanted was to run them through Derek’s hair. “Danny?” Derek said the name like it explained everything.

“What does Danny have to do with any of this? He’s always so nice to me.”

“Uh, _yea_. He’s practically in love with you.”

Stiles first reaction was to blow a raspberry and rear back slightly. He had words on the tip of his tongue, defensive words, but all that came out was, “Huh?”

“That’s why I told Jackson to back off. He’s so worried about losing Danny to you that he didn’t realize how ridiculous he’s being. Danny may be his best- his only _real_ friend but he’s not the type to forgive someone for hurting you.”

“Because he’s in love with me.”

“Yes.” Derek moved his hands to brace himself on Stiles’ knees. Between the revelation and the familiar touch, it felt like the air was being sucked out of the room. “I tried to tell him he didn’t need to worry about you.”

“Because-”

“Because you’re straight.”

“-there’s someone el… wait.”

“What?”

“ _What?_ ”

They sat in silence for a long moment, both stunned and confused and a little giddy. Stiles was too aware of his hands again, something inside him pulling them towards Derek’s, wanting to make some gesture to get his feelings across. His fingers itched, twitchy and uncomfortable as he held back and saved himself any more embarrassment.

“Danny being a guy isn’t the problem; me having a huge crush on someone else is.” It was as close to a confession as he could get. Derek’s eyes flashed with… with… was that disappointment? Sadness? It was masked with indifference before Stiles could pinpoint it but there was definitely something there that betrayed him. Stiles wasn’t stupid. He knew that look. He saw it every morning in the mirror. His emotional rollercoaster of a day continued, but this felt like the final climb before the last drop, hope and anticipation making his heart pound.

“And that someone is a…” Derek nodded his head once.

“A guy,” Stiles confirmed, staring straight into Derek’s stupid beautiful eyes and trying, _trying_ to convey _it’s you, you idiot_. But Derek just pulled his hands away and sat back on his feet, face stony and voice clipped.

“He’s a lucky guy.”

Stiles heaved a sigh. “I’d say ‘No, I’m the lucky guy,’ but considering how dense you’re being about this I might have to reconsider how smart I thought you were and let me tell you, the brain is the sexiest part of a person.”

“I…” Slack-jawed and shocked was a good look for Derek. His brow furrowed in concentration, eyes darting around Stiles’ face as if he’d find an answer there. Stiles just waited it out, let him stew; he’d waited literally _years_ to have a moment like this with Derek and if there was any chance Derek had been going through the same thing, well, that changed everything. “You mean, I… all this time I thought… I didn’t do anything because I thought…”

No, that wasn’t right. It didn’t feel right, how small Derek looked when he wasn’t really small at all. His face was open and honest and a little pained. Stiles realized that it wasn’t the same at all, what they had each gone through. Stiles had admired from a far because that’s just how things work out when two people’s lives don’t overlap. But social barriers could be overcome. Even if Stiles never put any effort into it, there was always that _possibility_.

Derek had never even had any hope.

“Do you have feelings for me?” Stiles asked to be sure, hushed and soft like Derek might break if he was anything but gentle. He looked like he was about to fall apart but he still nodded. “Me, too.”

When Derek leaned forward to bury his face in the bony crook between Stiles’ kneecaps, Stiles finally let himself reach out and run his hands through his glossy black hair, combing it back and forth in what he hoped was comforting and reassuring and promising and fuck if it wasn’t as soft as he’d always imagined it to be. The kneeling boy brought his hands up once more, sliding them up the sides and over the tops of Stiles’ thighs before they clenched at the muscle and cotton.

He didn’t ask anything more of Derek, didn’t ask him to relive those hopeless feelings or reassure Stiles that _yes, those feelings are real and for you_. He just let him bask in the same relief Stiles was feeling, let him come to terms with something neither of them expected to happen.

After a long while, Derek’s white-knuckled grip on his jeans released as he started to rise from the ground. Stiles took him into his arms, pulled him close as he dragged up his body slowly, head down so to hide his face until he could bury it in Stiles’ neck. His breath was hot and shaking, like Derek was barely in control anymore- the boy who was always so steeled, crumbling into Stiles. It was another side he’d never seen, a private side that was for his eyes only.

Derek pushed Stiles back to lie on the bed properly, coming up to cover his body with his own, face still hidden behind Stiles’ ear. Stiles tangled their legs and turned his head until he could brush his lips to the corner of Derek’s closed eye.

“Hey,” he whispered, tilting his head to bump their noses. Derek inhaled sharply. “Kiss me.”

Stiles only had a second to appreciate Derek’s pretty green eyes pop open and go cross with their proximity before he was pressing forward, lips dry but soft and eager.


End file.
